


I Think It's Time That We Believe

by fandomstakeoveryourlife



Series: Geraskier AUs [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, Coughing Blood, FTM Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon's Parent, Jaskier is trying his best, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, M/M, Moving In Together, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Sick Jaskier | Dandelion, Step-Dad Jaskier, Trans Jaskier | Dandelion, Transphobia, Vaginal Fingering, Yennefer is a Bitch, Young Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, dad geralt, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:35:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24352975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomstakeoveryourlife/pseuds/fandomstakeoveryourlife
Summary: Jaskier had always told himself he would find a nice young guy with no past relationship issues and take it slow and steady - let it build.And yet, somehow he ended up here: moving in with the world's biggest mardy-bum, who was several years older than him, after only dating for four months, who had a crazy, rich, successful ex and a teenage kid.How the fuck did that happen.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier AUs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686772
Comments: 6
Kudos: 129





	I Think It's Time That We Believe

Jaskier had always told himself he would find a nice young guy with no past relationship issues and take it slow and steady - let it build. They would go on cute little dates and take their time exploring each other and the tender relationship between them. Yeah, okay, it was a little rom-com-ish sounding, but he just felt that it would happen exactly like that.

And yet, somehow he ended up here: moving in with the world's biggest mardy-bum, who was several years older than him, after only dating for four months, who had a crazy, rich, successful ex and a teenage kid.

You could say that it was his own fault; he could have ended things as soon as found out the guy had a crazy ex and a fifteen year old kid, cause he _had_ been pretty upfront about it. And he could have just not initiated anything when the guy had sat down at the bar and grunted out monotonous replies when Jaskier took his drink order, because, y'know, that's generally a pretty good sign of somebody;s personality. But, for some reason, he'd made excuses for the guy, giving him way too much of a benefit of the doubt. Maybe it was because he was desperate and lonely and tired of one-night stands. Okay, it was definitely because he was desperate and lonely and tired of one-night stands.

Admittedly, it had actually started with a hookup - they'd gone back to Jaskier's shitty little apartment (the guy had been nice enough to not comment on the black mould clustering around the cornices of every room, or the cracked window he'd boarded up with some corrugated card from an Amazon Delivery box and a shit-ton of packing tape) and fucked on his concerningly sagging bed. It hadn't been until the guy was sliding into him that he'd told Jaskier his name: Geralt.

The sex was surprisingly gentle and sensual, rather than the rough and bruising fuck that Jaskier had been expected. Plus, Geralt hadn't been thrown off by the surprise downstairs (yes, Jaskier had pre-warned him at the bar, but sometimes guys thought it was hot until they were actually faced with a vagina in a male body); he had just asked what Jaskier would prefer him do and went with it. Geralt had then deliberately woken him in the morning, saying he had work. After moping around in bed for far longer than was probably good, Jaskier dragged himself out of the stale sheets to wash off the smell of sex in the shower. When he entered the kitchen, there was a mug of long gone cold coffee on the side, pinning down a note with a number written in elaborately graceful loops. After that, they had kinda dance around each other for a month or two, sort of dating, sort of not, until Jaskier bit the bullet and they made it official.

It was maybe around the two month mark when Jaskier started to feel like he understood Geralt in ways that other people didn't. He could tell each seemingly emotionless "hmm" apart; he knew how to run his fingers through Geralt's hair in just the right way, when they were watching a film, so make his muscles go soft and all the tension to drain out of his normally rigid form; he knew just how to earn himself one of Geralt's rare smiles, or his even rarer laughs. Fuck, it just made him so anxious and excited at the same time. 

Then around the third month, things went downhill for Jaskier, personally. When he was with Geralt, it was great and even with the odd little disagreement and half-teasing quips. However, a functioning relationship wasn't going to save him from the harassment and disappointing lack of tips from the bar he worked and played at, along with his shitty landlord, who picked and chose his moments to do his job when it suited him. The intensity of damp had swiftly increased the black mould had begun to creep steadily down his walls, which Geralt had been very quick to make a complaint about - apparently it was a danger to his health, which Jaskier had brushed off as motherly concern until he's found himself with a ragged cough that pulled at his chest, leaving him wheezing and shivering. 

It had all reached a head when Jaskier quit his job on a whim after his boss threw in one too many "tranny" jokes than normal. He'd managed to get home without crying, only to find a crinkled and slightly sticky eviction notice tacked to his door. Speechless and gasping, he'd rung up the landlord - "you can't give me that short of a notice! It has to be four weeks; I'm not a fucking idiot, y'know" - but when the gungy man on the other end of the phone wouldn't be swayed, Jaskier relented and gave up. He was well and truly fucked.

Somewhat surprisingly, it had been Geralt that had suggested Jaskier move in with him. It wasn't like Jaskier hadn't been to Geralt's apartment before, or even met his teenage daughter Priscilla (or his insane ex, for that matter), but the offer had still arisen unexpectedly; so much so that he'd inhaled too sharply and sent himself into a chesty coughing fit. 

"But what about Ciri?" He'd sputtered, around wheezing breaths.

Geralt had frowned. "What about her?"

"Well, she lives there too. Shouldn't you ask her what she thinks about me moving in?"

"Hm. Maybe. She doesn't dislike you, Jaskier."

Jaskier had rolled his eyes and muttered "but that doesn't mean she likes me, either."

* * * *

Fifteen year olds, as it turns out, can be a little difficult to win over, especially when they're the daughter of your stubborn boyfriend and the immense power of both their parent's icy glares combined. Jaskier didn't feel like Ciri hated him, but she certainly hadn't accepted him. He was well aware of - and perfectly okay with - the fact that she would never see him as her parent, or even a step-parent. what he wasn't so okay with was the way she pushed and tested him; she didn't act out as such, just made it difficult for him. Jaskier tried to parent Ciri as little as possible, because, well, he wasn't her parent and he didn't want to be that guy that bitched at his boyfriend's kid. But even so, she kept deliberately ignoring him, or putting just enough edge into her words that they stung, but not enough to want interference from Geralt. 

Jaskier couldn't quite tell if things were more or less challenging when Geralt was around: on one hand, she tended to keep more to herself and stay in her room, however, there was no Geralt to give him a hand in getting her to listen when he needed it. Which usually left him with any manual labour around the apartment, like doing dishes and laundry. Geralt had told him several times now that if Ciri wasn't listening, then he should leave the washing until he (Geralt) got home and could make the haul up and down the stairs. But Jaskier was an adamant and caring idiot, so of course he decided to make the trip.

The way down was fine, a little wheeze here and there, but nothing that overly warranted concern. Once the machines were loaded, he sat with his songwriting notebook open on his lap, humming riffs under his breath and tapping rhythms on his knees. But the climb back up was a different story; Geralt lived on the sixth floor, which, before this moment, hadn't seemed like much of an issue, but now he was hauling a heaped and heavy plastic basket of laundry up the stairs. Yes, he could have taken the lift, but there had been an oddly monstrous queue, and honestly, he was in a little bit of an impatient mood - so he'd opted for the stairs. Big. Fucking. Mistake.

After pausing for much shorter than he probably should have on the fourth floor landing, Jaskier gasped in several deep breaths and dragged himself up the next two set of stairs, coughs catching in his throat and stars winking maliciously in his vision. How he managed to stumble to the correct apartment and make it through the door, he'd never know. As soon as he was through the door, he dumped the basket onto the floor with a thud and slid down the door, bent over and coughing. The coughing felt different this time: rougher and more tearing, then wetter as a hot warmth spread through his chest and up his throat. 

A hot coppery taste scalded his mouth and something splattered over his cupped hands. Drawing his shaking fingers away from his mouth, Jaskier choked on his breathing at the sight of the droplets of scarlet blood smeared across his too-pale skin and running in crooked lines down his palm. Then the coughs were racking through his chest again and for a moment his vision went white. 

"Shit." 

Reality came rushing joltingly fast and Jaskier groaned as a wave of nausea crashed over him.

"Shit shit shit. Jaskier?" 

Fuck. Ciri. Blinking, Jaskier pushed himself into more a swearing position, before realising he'd gotten blood on the carpet and swearing breathlessly. 

"I'm okay, don't worry." The wheezes that punctuated the sentence made it a little less convincing but he had more important things to focus on than that right now.

"You're literally _coughing up blood,_ if you hadn't noticed." She sounded exasperated, with frustration or concern, Jaskier didn't know. "I'm calling Dad."

"No, no, no. Don't do that. It's fine." He said hastily, already trying to get his feet hooked under himself so as to stand up, but his legs felt swimming pool wobbly and refused to cooperate.

"It's not _fine!_ 'Cause you could be dying and dad's going to be so mad, 'cause I didn't help." Her voice had gone all high and hysterical, like she was about to have a panic attack, or burst into tears. _Ohh,_ Jaskier thought, _so that's what this is about._

"Hey, no, it's my own fault: I shouldn't have been pushing myself and your dad has told me that, so if he's going to be mad at anyone, it'll be me. Plus, I'm pretty sure I'm not dying, so it'll be okay." He made some attempt at a thumbs up and a weak smile.

Ciri didn't look convinced, but she dropped the hand holding her phone down to her side and chewed at her lower lip instead. 

"Now," Jaskier started, "I'm going to sit here for a bit longer, until my head stops spinning, then I'm going to get up, wash this blood off and probably go take a nap, if that's okay with you?" 

When the teenager nodded wordlessly Jaskier swallowed and tipped his back against the door, counting his breaths in and out.

* * * *

In Jaskier's experience, hospital visits were never fun, especially when in the company of a more-scowly-than-usual Geralt who was giving off distinct vibes of disapproval and annoyance. Jaskier had made the smart decision to not push his boyfriend to talk - he'd already gotten a telling off for pushing himself - and if the heavy exhaled huffs were anything to go by, he'd be getting another talking-to later. Geralt had awoken Jaskier from his nap (which had ended up being most of the day), demanding to know why Ciri was in a state and why he'd been such an idiot. After putting his foot down on his daughter staying at home, Geralt had driven the two of them to the hospital in tense silence. 

Eventually, a nurse checked checked him over and a doctor diagnosed him with Viral Bronchitis, saying the blood was very unlikely to be fatal, and that the virus would heal on its own, as long as he rested and refrained from any strenuous activities.

It wasn't until they had gotten back into Geralt's car and Jaskier had hung up after reassuring Ciri he was okay, that Geralt finally spoke.

"Do you not care about your wellbeing, Jaskier? Do you need to talk to someone?" His eyebrows were drawn tightly together, pinching his forehead and he spoke slowly, as if he didn't know how to approach the topic.

Jaskier blinked in surprise, then felt the corners of his mouth tug down and his chest squeeze in a way that had nothing to do with the Bronchitis. 

"What? No, no, of course I care about my wellbeing." It physically hurt to think that he'd made Geralt think he was deliberately making himself ill.

Geralt's frown got impossibly deeper and his eyes darkened in confusion. "Then why would you purposefully push yourself like this."

"I'm used to it being just me, Geralt. I'm used to having to do things myself, no matter what, else it won't get done."

His boyfriend's expression softened into one of sympathy - not pity - with an edge of frustration. "I'm sorry, Jaskier." He paused to collect his words for a moment. "It doesn't have to be like that anymore, though. If Ciri is being uncooperative, I can do the laundry, later. You know that."

Jaskier squirmed in his car seat. "Yeah, you see, that's the thing. I-" He cut himself off and sighed. "I feel bad about doing things like that because you've been working all day, so you shouldn't have to do housework as well when you get home. 'Cause, I've been home all day so I should be the one doing it."

Geralt cupped the back of his head swiftly and pulled the Polish forwards to press a soft kiss against his forehead. "Jaskier. You are ill. It's okay. Once the bronchitis has cleared up, we can look for a job and you can do all the housework you like." 

Huffing out a subdued laugh, Jaskier pulled away and surged up to meet Geralt's lips with his own, mumbling as "okay" against them as he went.

* * * *

On weekdays Geralt was the first up in the morning, leaving for his Security Officer job at what Jaskier liked to call "stupid o'clock" in the morning (in reality, it was usually some time between six and seven AM. He would always wake Jaskier up either when he got up to shower, or before he left the apartment, with a deep kiss that regularly left Jaskier half-hard and restless. Often, he then fell back asleep until his seven thirty AM alarm woke him up and he would pad, half awake, to the kitchen for his pre-shower coffee. Ciri had her own alarms and would be finishing breakfast about when Jaskier was getting up. She usually left at eight fifteen at the latest, leaving Jaskier with the apartment to himself. In the afternoon, Ciri usually appeared in through the door sometime after three thirty, then Geralt after five, leaving them to have dinner together, before Jaskier left for work in the evening (he'd gotten one as a barman and a performer at a friendly local bar).

Every other weekend when Geralt's ex, Yennefer, would have Ciri, she would pick up her daughter from the apartment on Friday evening around dinner time, and then drop her at school on Monday. Jaskier preferred to keep his interactions with Yennefer to a minimum, if possible; she was not afraid to be very open about her feelings towards Jaskier and was frequently spiteful and somewhat nasty. 

It was nearly seven when Yennefer knocked on the apartment door that week. Jaskier hadn't noticed - he'd been too busy putting together an outfit for work as he was performing that night and was still partially putting together his signature look. Because of all of this, Jaskier was taken by surprise when he stepped out of his and Geralt's room, in just a pair of jeans, to find Yennefer sitting stiffly on the edge of the sofa, with Geralt looking just as uncomfortable in the armchair, the scowl that commonly appeared around Yenn pasted on his face. 

Jaskier wasn't generally a self conscious person: he wasn't ashamed of his body and his lack of immense Geralt-like muscle. But, standing exposed in front of Yennefer as he was, he felt the weird impulse to cover himself up. Maybe it was because he didn't much know or like her. Maybe it was because of the scars that ran under each pectoral muscle; a reminder of what once was. Scars that she was currently staring fixedly on. They weren't overly noticeable, not any more, but they were definitely there. He'd read somewhere before that re-pigmentation tattoos could be used to cover up scars after surgery, but he'd never felt the need. Yet, as Yennefer stared a searing hole into his skin, he suddenly felt like he should have reconsidered his decision.

"S-Sorry," he stuttered out, "was just wondering if you'd seen that embroidered blue collared shirt of mine, Geralt." 

Geralt hmmed in thought. "Think it's in the washing basket. It'll need an iron." The scowl painted across his face had faded into a look of concern and Jaskier suddenly wondered if Geralt had told Yennefer that he was trans. From the way she was staring, he guessed not. 

Ciri, with her beautifully convenient timing, chose that exact moment to enter the living space, a her school rucksack slung over one shoulder and a heavy looking tote bag clasped tight in her hand. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun and her mouth was set in a firm and distinctly displeased line. Jaskier knew she wasn't the biggest fan of her mother or her rudely blunt words, but, as she had expressed to Jaskier before, she could deal with one weekend every other week if it made her mother happy.

Yennefer finally dragged her eyes away from Jaskier's chest and tsked at her daughter. "Ciri, my darling ugly duckling, you really ought to take more pride in your appearance."

Ciri said nothing and just rolled her eyes before approaching Jaskier for a hug. The Polish wasn't sure if the hug was to spite Yennefer, or if Ciri genuinely wanted one, but either way, he wasn't going to turn her down. Giving her a tight squeeze, Jaskier drew back and Ciri gave her dad a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek, before heading out of the apartment, presumably for her mother's car. 

"Well then, that's my cue to leave then." Yennefer flashed the two men a large and overly fake smile before rising gracefully and fluidly to her feet. "Lovely to see you as always Jaskier." 

Jaskier pulled a face. "Mm, the feeling is mutual."

"Oh, and I didn't know you had a thing for trannies, Geralt." She added, and with that, she was gone, slipping out the apartment door like a snake.

For a moment, the two men stood in stunned silence, Geralt scowling and Jaskier with his arms folded and eyes wide. "Wow," he laughed out shakily, "was not expecting that."

"I'm gonna fuckin' call her. That was not okay." Geralt snarled his words out through his teeth, patting his pockets down for his mobile. 

Jaskier blinked in surprise. "What? No. It's fine, Geralt, honestly." His boyfriend looked at him like he'd grown a second head.

"I know she can be mean sometimes, Jask, but that was not okay. She can't call you that." Finally, he fished his mobile out of his pocket and attacked the screen with his fingers.

"Hey! No! No, wait." Jaskier grabbed at the phone and Geralt's arms desperately. "Please. At least wait until they'll be out of the car. 'Cause it's not fair on Ciri, for her to have to listen. Please." 

With a sigh, Geralt dropped his arms, the phone held loosely in the grip of his fingers. "Fine. But only for Ciri." 

"Thank you." Jaskier stretched and kissed his boyfriend firmly. "Now, I need to go find that shirt, 'cause I'm gonna be late, if I'm not careful."

* * * *

"I spoke to Yennefer."

Geralt's low voice rumbling up through the darkness made Jaskier jump so badly he flung his keys somewhere into the vast darkness in front of him and slopped at least half the glass of water in his hand over himself, soaking into his skinny jeans and dampening his socks. Thank fuck it was just water and nothing else - Geralt would kill him if he stained the carpet. 

Jaskier liked to think he'd gotten better at noticing Geralt when he moved silently, and he probably should have heard his boyfriend's soft breathing in the darkness of the living room, but honestly, he hadn't even really considered it. He'd gotten in from work about fifteen minutes before, stepping into a completely dark apartment. Figuring Geralt had just gone to bed early, or was reading by lamplight in their bedroom, he'd kicked off his shoes and went to get a drink from the kitchen. But, apparently, for some reason, his boyfriend had been lying on the sofa in the dark instead, in silence.

"Fucking hell, Geralt. Why're you sitting here in the dark?" Jaskier flicked water off his hand and wiped his damp palm down the thigh of his jeans. Reaching out, he felt around on the wall, trying to find the light switch.

When Geralt only hmmed in reply, Jaskier sighed softly. "I can't find the switch - can you turn on a lamp, so we can talk about this?" 

The table lamp that resided beside the sofa blinked on with a soft _snick,_ making the Pole squint for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the light. Geralt was curled at one end of the sofa in a pair of ratty sweatpants and one of Jaskier's oversized zip-up hoodies - though, on Geralt, it fitted snugly. He looked pale and his eyes were red, as if he'd been rubbing at them aggressively. Something in Jaskier's chest pulled tight and he felt his throat seize. Swallowing hard, he made up his mind.

"Okay. So, this is what's going to happen. I'm going to take off my jeans and my socks, then we're going to talk about what happened with the bitch, and then we're going to make out and probably fuck, okay?" When Geralt only hmmed in reply, Jaskier stripped off his jeans and peeled off his uncomfortably wet socks. Leaving them in a pile on the floor, he clambered onto the sofa, arranging the two of them so he was kneeling between Geralt's bent legs, his boyfriend's hands settled on his hips, with his own placed carefully on the broad, thickly muscled chest in front of him.

"So. Yennefer."

"Hmm." Geralt growled out a noise of confirmation, but his gaze was distant, as if his mind was somewhere else.

"When did you call her?" Jaskier tried gently.

"After you left." The Polish man resisted the urge to sigh; he knew Geralt wasn't deliberately being difficult, but that didn't make it any easier.

"Well I figured that much," he rolled his eyes, " _when._ " 

Geralt pulled one hand away from Jaskier's hip to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I don't know exactly. Not immediately."

"What did you say?" 

His boyfriend scowled so deep it looked like it was going to cut through the skin of his forehead. "What do you think?" He snarled out. "I called her out on her shit, Jask. What she said wasn't _fuckin' okay._ " 

Jaskier swallowed; he didn't know how to tell Geralt that, yeah it wasn't okay, but it wasn't like he wasn't used to it. People were rude; people were mean; people said hurtful and offensive shit, but you couldn't just let it get to you, or you'd never get anywhere in life.

As if he could read his boyfriend's mind, Geralt growled, "I don't care if you've dealt with it fine before, I'm not going to stand for it. Especially not from _her._ I'm not asking for you two to be best buddies, but she could at least have the _decency_ to respect you and your choices. And my choices, too." 

For a long moment, Jaskier didn't know what to say. He sat back on his heels, rubbing at his own hands, until all he eventually came up with was "oh".

Geralt hmmed deeply and tipped his head back with a long soft exhale. 

"What did she say?" He couldn't help asking, even though he wasn't entirely sure he actually wanted to know.

"I think I surprised her. Never used to stand up to her, all that much." Geralt paused, then looked properly at Jaskier for the first time since he'd gotten home. "I'm not going to repeat exactly what she said: it wasn't nice to you, or me." He sighed. "But I think she won't be a bitch to you, again. That's what matters."

It was Jaskier's turn to hmm in agreement, then he slumped gently forwards and curled against his boyfriend's firm chest, wrapping his arms around his middle in an embrace. Geralt clasped his hands on Jaskier's back and pressed a kiss into his hair. 

Eventually, Geralt loosened his hands and moved one up to gently pushed Jaskier just far enough back that he could cup his jaw, bringing their mouths together in a kiss. One thing Jaskier had noticed about Geralt, is that, no matter how brief the kiss, or how private the moment, every time their lips met, he never failed to make a flare of arousing heat swell in the Pole's belly. And now was no different. His hands resumed their original position on Geralt's chest and he arched himself up a little further, pushing back against Geralt's force. Pulling away for a moment, Jaskier bit down teasingly on his boyfriend's lower lip. That was apparently all the encouragement Geralt needed as he growled hungrily in response and hooked his hands under Jaskier's arse, pulling him onto his lap as he straightened his legs out. Jaskier wriggled a little, adjusted his straddled position, hitching himself higher up his boyfriends thighs so that he was almost over his crotch, but not quite.

Geralt nuzzled his face into Jaskier's neck, pressing kisses into the sensitive skin under his jaw, grazing his teeth across his boyfriend's flesh, while his shaven stubble scraped along his neck. Jaskier couldn't quite hold back the groan that slipped out his mouth; beneath him, Geralt shuddered with arousal. 

"Don't leave too much of a mark," Jaskier huffed out between soft moans, "gotta look presentable for work, y'know." He'd tipped his head back, making the tendons push out in the expanse of his pale exposed neck. 

The larger man hmm in agreement. "Better get your shirt off then, 'fore I get carried away." If he'd been right on the edge, Jaskier could've cum right there and then to the husky growl that was Geralt's arousal driven voice. 

Geralt let him struggle with his button up shirt for a moment, before letting out an affectionate huff of laughter and giving in to help him. The shirt joined his damp jeans and socks on the other side of the living room. 

"This isn't fair," he whined. "How come I'm in my boxers and you're still in a hoodie and sweats. You should be in your underwear, too."

His boyfriend raised an eyebrow. "Who says I'm wearing underwear?" 

Jaskier let out another whine and impulsively ground his hips down into Geralt, who pushed up into his movement in response. 

The hoodie joined the jeans, shirt and socks.

Dipping down, Jaskier ran his tongue over the soft flesh of one of Geralt's nipples, earning him a throaty moan and a large hand gripped one side of his ass. As he began sucking on the nipple, teasing it into a hard nub, the hand ground into ass, squeezing the muscle. Jaskier pulled away and sat back on his boyfriend's thighs, staring down at the flushed male beneath him. As he shifted against the hand still kneading his arse, he became aware of the firm thickness that was Geralt's cock pushing up from beneath him. Jaskier ground his hips down, unable to hold back the moan that escaped at the friction against his sensitive clit.

A throaty groan slipped from Geralt's lips. "You look so fuckin' hot, moaning like that." 

Jaskier grinned and thrust his hips forward, sliding against the shaft of Geralt's cock through the layers of material.

"Need those clothes off and you under me." His boyfriend grunted out, his mouth now fixed against his collarbone, biting hot bruises along the thin sensitive skin. 

"Mhm, I second that." 

They shuffled around each other without moving off the sofa, until they were both lying on the sides, Jaskier with his back pressed up against the back of the sofa, one of Geralt's thickly muscled legs thrown over his hip, holding himself up. Their lips reconnected as they wrestled with each others clothes. The Pole hooked his fingers into the loose worn out waistband of his boyfriends sweatpants, tugging at it until Geralt relented and lifted his hips for a moment, then they were off and irrelevant. Jaskier's boxers soon followed.

Geralt's lips pulled away from his own and he whined in complaint, but Geralt ignored him in favour of kissing down his jaw and neck until he reached his chest, murmuring a throaty and possessive "mine" after each connection. Then he reattached his mouth to Jaskier's chest, sucking burning mark after burning mark; in the morning Jaskier would stand in the bathroom, staring in proud fascination at the affectionate artwork of bruises smattered across the skin of his torso; but now, he just moaned roughly and tipped his head back, panting, with his fingering threaded tightly into Geralt's mussed white hair, tugging through the sharp biting pain. As Geralt marked him, he thrusted gently against his boyfriend, sliding the thick weight of Geralt's cock against his clit, making the curl of heat tighten in his stomach with each moment.

"Fuck, _Geralt._ " 

The larger man hmmed in response and lifted his head to look at Jaskier with a flush settling high on his cheekbones, pupils blown wide. 

"Just fingering, tonight? I can't be bothered to get a condom." Jaskier admitted. 

Geralt huffed out a laugh. "On your back then. Don't want to make a mess on the sofa."

They shifted again and as Jaskier settled on his back, he wrapped his hand around his boyfriend's hot and lengthy cock. He started off his movements slowly, working up a gentle rhythm as Geralt slid a long middle finger into him. A high whine escaped Jaskier and for a moment his breath caught in his throat, then he was panting as Geralt matched his rhythm. 

His strokes unconsciously sped up as Geralt pushed a second finger in, making him arch his back up off the sofa, moaning breathily. Adding a twist around the head of his boyfriend's cock, Jaskier felt Geralt gasp in sudden arousal against the meat of his shoulder.

" _Fuck,_ Jask. Keep goin' like that and I won't last long."

Jaskier slowed the pumping of his fist a little, but tightened his grip, listening to the sharp grunts of ecstasy from the man leaning over him, fucking him with his fingers. He spread his hips wider as Geralt added a third finger, letting out yelping moans with each thrust. 

His rhythm sped up again as Geralt fucked into his fist, bucking his hips semi-voluntarily. The heat in his lower stomach was raging and he felt himself nearing the edge. Tipping his head back his arched his back further, moans hitting a higher pitch. 

"Oh god, _Geralt,_ I'm gonn-" pure euphoria erupted over him and his vision whited out as he rode out the high of his orgasm. Vaguely aware of Geralt huffing out aroused grunts over him, he worked his rhythm up, slowly coming back to himself. His muscles twitched at the over sensitivity of his nerves at Geralt continued to finger him, though, admittedly at a slower pace than before.

" _Jaskier._ " Geralt came, moaning his name into his neck, his hips bucking jerkily as he released hot ropes across Jaskier's stomach and chest. Jaskier milked his boyfriend's cock through his orgasm until he was shaking from exertion and panting heavily. 

Geralt carefully pulled his fingers out - drawing a soft gasp from Jaskier -and sat back on his heels. 

"Fucking hell," Jaskier swallowed against his dry throat.

"Hm. I love you." It wasn't often that Geralt initiated the love confessions, and Jaskier's heart swelled every time he heard it.

"I love you too. However, I do slightly require a shower, perhaps."

* * * *

Songwriting was more than a craft or a hobby to Jaskier: it was his fascination, his passion, his _calling._ And yet, no matter how many times he'd verbalised this to the large male and petite teenager that he lived with, they both seemed incapable of getting the memo, or at least following it, as they persisted to _interrupt_ his craft. He was just a simple man, trying to make his way through life, riding on the back of his artistic talent, and yet they apparently felt the need to repeatedly-

"Jaskier?"

The Polish man blinked out of his mental rant and looked up at origin of the voice, pushing a half-forced smile onto his face.

"At your service. How can I help?"

Ciri, who was leaning against the door frame into Jaskier and Geralt's shared bedroom, where Jaskier's current thought process was spread out all across the room, smattered across the bed covers and washing onto the floor in waves of partially crumpled pages. The waste bin was an avalanche of tightly scrunched paper balls, overflowing onto the surrounding floor space like a little friendly volcano. Jaskier tucked the biro he had clutched between ink smeared fingers over his ear and turned his focus fully onto the blonde, waiting patiently.

The teenager looked a little uncertain, as if she knew what she wanted to say, but was unsure as of how to say it. 

"I've got this friend," she started, then stopped and chewed her lip for a moment.

"If it's relationship advice you've come to me for, I'm afraid to tell you that I'm as useless with that as Geralt is." Jaskier said with a soft chuckle.

Ciri snorted and shook her head. "No, no. Not that kind of friend, don't worry." She paused and took a breath before starting again. "I've got this friend, who was a guy before, but now he's said he wants to transition to be a girl."

Jaskier nodded, encouraging her to keep talking.

"And, obviously I'm not against him- I mean her," Ciri flapped her hands for a moment, then appeared to settle, "and I want to be supportive, and whatever, but I don't know _how._ "

"So, you came to me to ask?" 

She nodded. "If that's okay, of course."

Jaskier smiled. This was the first time Ciri had really come to him for anything. She had been a lot chattier and generally friendly since the whole episode with Yennefer and her offensive slurs. To be honest, he wasn't sure if that was correlation or causation, but either way, he wasn't going to complain. 

"Of course, I don't mind at all. And anyway, better to ask me than, say, raid the internet for answers - not that everything you find will be wrong, just some of what's said may not be great advice." He shifted some of the sheets spread over the quilt, merging them into indistinguishable layers. "Come sit here: you look uncomfortable there."

Ciri giggled softly and tiptoed across the minefield of paper, trying to avoid stepping on too many pages. Once she was settled on the bed, sitting with her legs crossed lazily, Jaskier readjusted himself so they were facing each other.

"Right. Anything in particular you want to know?"

She shook her head. "Just tips and stuff. How to be supportive, and, maybe things to avoid?"

Jaskier nodded. "Yeah, okay. So, first off, don't worry if you mess up a little on the pronouns at first, or with her new name - sorry, I'm assuming. _Has_ she changed her name?"

There was a nod in response. "Yeah. She goes by Cherry, now."

He smiled. "Oh, that's a pretty name. I like that one." He paused for a moment to recollect his thoughts. "So yes, its okay to make mistakes to start with, as long as you make sure to correct yourself - your friend, Cherry, won't hold it against you, she'll appreciate that you're making the effort. While we're on the topic of pronouns, is she out yet?"

"Yeah, she's requested that from Monday, all the teachers and staff call her by her preferred pronouns and chosen name."

"Awesome - props to her 'cause transitioning in the same school is a bit of a challenge, but I'm sure with supportive friends, like you, she'll be okay."

A hazy blush crept up Ciri's cheekbones as she smiled and ducked her head.

"So, when you're talking to someone else about Cherry, correcting the other person if they misgender her can be helpful to the whole transition process. Of course, if you know that - for whatever reason - Cherry isn't out to that particular person, then don't out her. Also, unless she asks for you too, don't critique her on her appearance, or voice, or anything like that. Don't treat her like a guy pretending to be a girl, 'cause that's not what she is. Cherry is a female friend and so you just need to treat her the same as you would any other girl. Her mascara smeared? Offer her a mirror or to nip into the bathroom to touch it up. Her skirt tucked up? You tell her quietly so she doesn't get embarrassed." Jaskier shrugged. "Girl code."

Ciri nodded. "Yeah. Thank you. Really." She smiled shyly. 

Jaskier grinned. "Anytime."

* * * *

When Geralt had first suggested getting tattoos for their year anniversary, Jaskier had promptly choked on the tortilla chip he'd had in his mouth, to the point where Geralt had actually had to perform the Heimlich Manoeuvre on him until he'd coughed a jagged lump of soggy chip onto his shoes. 

It wasn't that Jaskier didn't want to get a meaningful tattoo relating to Geralt; it had just been a bit sudden and surprising, was all. His boyfriend was concerningly good at saying shocking things with no warning. For some people, a year was definitely too early for be getting a tattoo for their partner, but for Jaskier (and apparently Geralt, too) it most certainly wasn't too early. The main concerns for Jaskier was who and what and where and when. 

Geralt had figured out what he wanted and was half way through researching the most fitting tattoo artist. It was a dandelion - Jaskier's name meant 'buttercup' in Polish, but Geralt deemed that unfitting and decided that 'dandelion' worked much better (for some reason). 

"I want it under my collarbone with the head towards my shoulder, with the seed pods coming off over the joint." Is what he'd said, and Jaskier had nodded pathetically, completely lost with what he wanted. 

'Geralt' had little meaning and whilst 'Rivia' at least meant 'blessed', the Polish man felt that it would look tacky on him to just have the word curving around his bicep, or something. 

"Is there anything else that relates to you? Or like, your family?" He asked desperately, making wild hand gestures across the living room at his boyfriend (who was still researching for an artist).

"Had a nickname when I was younger, based on my family emblem, and my hair."

Jaskier's head jerked up, intrigued. "What was it?"

"The White Wolf."

The Polish man frowned a little and flopped onto his back on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. "Huh, okay. I think I can work with that." He paused. "Your family emblem: is it the same as that wolf head pendant you wear sometimes?"

Geralt hmmed in confirmation and kept tapping at the keys of his laptop. 

Jaskier was silent for a while as he thought. "What would you think if I used the wolf emblem and edited it a bit, like, more geometric maybe."

His boyfriend looked up at him, his brow puckering with the edge of a frown. "Where were you thinking?"

The smaller man licked his lips, nervously. "Well, either to one side of my chest, or.." He trailed off.

Geralt's frown deepened. "Or what? Spit it out."

"Or the centre of my chest. Y'know, over my sternum and my- my heart." Jaskier swallowed audibly and room fell silent. Something tightened in his chest and panic began to rise in his throat - maybe Geralt had suddenly changed his mind. He should've just gone with something simple and less full on, like their anniversary date, or some song lyrics. 

"I- I don't have to, Geralt. I'll just do some lyrics from that song you like, um. Put them 'round my bicep or-"

"No."

Jaskier blinked in surprise. "No? But- I thought-"

"No, your idea is fine. I just-" Geralt cut himself off and huffed out a frustrated breath. "It would mean a lot, if you did that, and-" he dropped his head down and mumbled the rest, "I don't want you to regret it."

The Pole dived off the sofa and crawled over to his boyfriend. Moving the laptop off his lap, he pushed himself between Geralt's legs and reached up to cup his face. 

"Hey, look at me, you big buffoon. Of course I want your family emblem on my chest. I'm yours and I always will be." He searched Geralt's eyes for some kind of a response, then surged forward to kiss his boyfriend as he saw the beginnings of an arguing statement forming on his lips. "And I won't regret it," he added as he pulled back, "even when I'm, like, ninety percent wrinkle and I've got saggy man boobs."

Geralt snorted and pushed his face back into Jaskier's. "Shut up, you idiot." He growled teasingly against the Pole's lips.

"Make me."


End file.
